


One Year Later

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anniversary, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy, Happy Sex, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Lingerie, Love, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Smut, Suspenders, Tenderness, if I could just shoot serotonin into your brain I would, this is the next best thing, zero percent angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: Every morning, Aziraphale puts on cologne and ties his shoes. He fixes the little bowtie at his neck with his own two hands, and there is not a day that goes by when Crowley doesn’t look at it and thinks about pulling on it, undoing it, unwrapping the angel like a present.To his credit, most days the demon behaves.💕Aziraphale and Crowley pick out a day for their anniversary and celebrate it together.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 429





	One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoseyxNeko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoseyxNeko/gifts).



> I wrote this for my dear dear friend Josey, because I love her very much and she deserves nice things.
> 
> Upon suggestion by [permanentblackink](https://permanentblackink.tumblr.com/) @ tumblr, outfit inspiration comes from these lovely pieces ([1](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/post/614797311450775552/to-go-with-that-last-crowley-cuz-aziraphale), [2](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/post/614717847160111104/there-really-isnt-enough-crowley-in-suspenders)) by [lonicera_caprifolium](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com).
> 
> This is just a little something soft and happy and smutty ❤

Crowley realises some of Aziraphale’s habits have begun rubbing off on him about one year after the Apocalypse. It’s been a great year. He’s all but moved into the bookshop at this point, and they are free to fill their days with whatever they want. Crowley has picked up a few hobbies, like quietly stalking the local university in search of aspiring screenwriters – who might soon get mysterious donations from an anonymous patron. Or like taking care of a rooftop garden over the bookshop, growing plants that will flower in different seasons, so that Aziraphale can have fresh flowers all year round, no miracles involved. It means taking the angel out for dinners, matinees, opera and ballet performances, or whatever else their hearts desire. It means lazy Sunday afternoons spent napping with the angel’s plush thighs as a pillow, and it also means making love on any available surface any day of the week.

It means that one year after the Apocalypse that was supposed to happen, Crowley finds himself in front of the mirror, displeased at the state of his hair, his fingers about to snap, and – stops himself. Because… well, simply because Aziraphale wouldn’t deal with unruly hair _this_ way. He would pay a professional to take care of it. Aziraphale does things as a human would whenever possible. That’s why he still wears his velvet waistcoat, even though it’s all worn around the buttons, even though he could simply use his powers to fix it or to miracle himself a new one. Every morning, Aziraphale puts on cologne and ties his shoes. He fixes the little bowtie at his neck with his own two hands, and there is not a day that goes by when Crowley doesn’t look at it and thinks about pulling on it, undoing it, unwrapping the angel like a present.

To his credit, most days the demon behaves.

It’s not all that bad, doing things the human way. Crowley is beginning to see Aziraphale has a point. There’s something very charming about it. He just wanted to look particularly good tonight, because tonight is supposed to be special.

Here’s the thing: about a month ago, as they were discussing human traditions, they realised they did not yet have an anniversary of their own. And on what day would their anniversary fall, anyway? Maybe the first time they met? Or the first time they went out for dinner together? The first time they held hands, or the first time they kissed? The first time Aziraphale admitted to wanting to take Crowley’s very tight jeans off – instantly making those jeans feel even tighter, maybe?

It all seemed equally important. Only one date stuck out for them to celebrate: the day the world didn’t end.

It had been Crowley’s idea. Aziraphale had gone on and on about the importance of anniversaries. One can get quite caught up in a routine, he’d said, and anniversaries are a chance to stop and appreciate what one has. To look back, remember the past, and then look forward, at the road ahead. Crowley had suggested they’d pick the day of the Apocalypse they’d stopped together, and Aziraphale had beamed at him in that way that always made Crowley’s unruly heart thump inside his chest.

So that had been it.

Crowley has taken the time to go out shopping and has picked a black suit, a lighter shirt, and a pair of old-fashioned suspenders that he knows Aziraphale will love. Not a style the demon wears anymore in the new century, but – he found out that he doesn’t mind, for one night, to switch it up a little. He could just picture Aziraphale looking at him with a twinkle in his eyes, as he sometimes does before kissing him on the forehead and telling him he looks particularly beautiful.

After struggling with his hair for a good ten minutes, he decides he’s satisfied with how it looks. He stares at his image in the mirror and pats down his new suit. Yes. He’s pretty happy with what he sees – a suave demon just about ready to sweep an unsuspecting angel off his feet.

Most times, his fantasies don’t match up with reality, but that’s beside the point right now, okay?

When he walks out of the bathroom, Aziraphale takes in his new style and proceeds to look at him as if he’s hung the stars (which, technically…) and Crowley almost stumbles on his own feet. Ah, feet – never quite got the hang of them.

Then he looks at Aziraphale.

The angel had insisted he wanted something out of the ordinary for his anniversary look, determined to make this night special. He’d begged Crowley to help him, since he wanted, just for one day, to look somewhat more modern. More like Crowley himself, really. And, once the demon had recovered from the realisation that Aziraphale wanted them to be a matching set, he’d been more than happy to go with him to his tailor and discuss fabrics and cuts.

In the end, seeing how uncomfortable Aziraphale got whenever they considered anything too different from his usual style, Crowley had put aside his personal preferences and tried to focus on what would really make the angel happy. Aziraphale had ended up in a light blue shirt and a tan suit that looked barely any different from what he usually wore – aside from being brand new. The angel had been so pleased, giddy even, and Crowley had felt a deep sense of contentment. As he found himself doing more and more often, he’d had to swallow back a smile – Aziraphale’s excitement was absolutely adorable and dangerously contagious, bless it all.

So they go out for dinner, and the night itself is far from perfect – they bicker in the car because there’s too much traffic and Crowley decides the pavement is a good alternative to the road, for a start. Then the waiter messes up their order, and they have to wait a long time for their food to arrive – although Aziraphale is exceedingly gentle about it, as to not upset anyone, and Crowley rolls his eyes more than once.

But the restaurant has a ballroom and, when they’re done with their dinner, Crowley asks Aziraphale if he feels like taking advantage of it, and Aziraphale smiles and takes his hand without a moment’s hesitation. Luckily for the both of them it’s a piano ballad, so all in all they don’t step on each other’s feet – too much. Crowley points out that Aziraphale is so rigid it’s like dancing with a lamp, and Aziraphale smirks and tells him he has two left feet, and possibly two left hands as well, and then kisses him right where they are, in the middle of the dancefloor, where anyone could see.

What a thing.

They get back at the bookshop pleasantly tipsy, and the first thing Crowley does, as the door locks itself behind them, is take Aziraphale’s face into his hands and kiss him again. The angel, pretending for all of three seconds to be surprised, makes a weak, preposterously confused sound before kissing him back, grabbing the demon by his new suspenders and pulling him closer. Crowley slips a hand behind the angel’s neck, scratches lightly the soft skin, and drinks the sound of pleasure Aziraphale makes from his lips. With his other hand, Crowley cups the angel’s cheek and runs his thumb along the corner of his mouth, soft and open as they kiss, wet and hot and still tasting like rosé and raspberries.

Sure, maybe the night has been far from perfect, but he wouldn’t want anything else.

He runs his hands down Aziraphale’s chest, examining the fabric of the suit he’s helped him pick.

“I’ve changed my mind, angel,” he mutters, low and conspiratory, “I don’t like this anymore.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies, confused for a second before he blinks rapidly and smiles, “ _oh_ , would you rather I take this off, my dear? Is this what you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” Crowley smirks, burying his face against his neck, “that’s exactly what I’m saying. Let’s get rid of it.”

“Now,” Aziraphale takes half a step back, just enough to give Crowley pause but let him know his attention is not at all unwelcome, “let’s get upstairs first, then we can talk about it. How does that sound?”

This is a good time as any to mention that two weeks ago, while lying together in bed, Aziraphale had suggested holding off for a little while before having sex again. Just until their anniversary, he’s said, just enough to miss each other a little. And Crowley, his skin still buzzing with pleasure, perfectly content and satisfied, had felt complacent enough to think that it sounded like a perfectly reasonable idea. It didn’t seem like a lot, two weeks.

It sure didn’t seem like a lot, right after having had any last coherent thought fucked out of his brain by a very thorough angel. Then, as the days ticked by, and Aziraphale was so close all the time and yet out of reach, Crowley had started to really feel it. What in the world had he agreed to? _Two weeks?_ Seriously?

It’s a very familiar feeling, wanting Aziraphale and not being able to reach out and touch him – and one he’s not particularly fond of.

The demon swallows around his heart in his throat and forces his head to give a slow nod. “Good,” he croaks out, then somehow manages not to run up the stairs, but instead follows Aziraphale quietly.

Except the angel hesitates once they reach the door to the bedroom, turns around, and asks, “can you do something for me, Crowley?” with a flutter of his long, white eyelashes, and the demon can’t take it anymore.

He crowds Aziraphale against the wall just outside the bedroom, “I could do a great deal many things for you, angel. I could start by having you right here. No need to undo the bed at all,” he growls against the angel’s ear, guiding Aziraphale’s hands to the buttons of his shirt.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpers, in that way that the demon has learned to mean ‘insist a little more and you will convince me, but I will be upset later because you ruined whatever it is that I have in mind’.

Crowley nibbles at his earlobe while his fingers undo the bowtie around Aziraphale’s neck, steals the little scrap of fabric for himself, and lets him go. The angel takes a moment to clear his throat, straighten down his suit, and chances a quick look at the undone bowtie in the demon’s clutches before meeting his gaze again.

“Wait here a moment, please.”

“Wh—” Crowley begins to ask, but the door is already closing behind Aziraphale’s (lovely) arse.

The demon decides to take this chance to shrug off his jacket and abandon his sunglasses. He runs a hand through his hair, hoping it still looks alright despite the absence of any miracle. Not that it matters – if everything goes as he thinks it will, his hair will be a mess in no time, and he’ll be more than happy to allow it.

“Do come in,” Aziraphale’s voice calls from the bedroom after a minute or two, and Crowley doesn’t need to be told twice.

He blinks a few times as he takes in the angel sitting on the ottoman with one leg crossed over the other – no jacket or trousers in sight, the first few buttons of his shirt open to show the pale skin of his chest and the undershirt he wears underneath. His cheeks are coloured but his gaze is steady, and he’s smiling at him, almost inviting him to come forward. Also, his legs covered in nothing but thin stockings, held up on his thighs by a garter belt.

Crowley freezes in place, blinking another few times for good measure.

“It was so nice when you did this, so I thought… well, why not try it myself?” Aziraphale says, and Crowley leans against a bookshelf to admire him in properly. Half of it is the look – the angel’s full thighs hugged by the stretchy material of the stockings, the straps of the garter belt digging into his lovely flesh. Half of it is the thought that Aziraphale would do this for him, to try and appear even more appealing that he usually is. As if he didn’t look downright edible every minute of every blessed day.

Crowley will even ignore the fact that the angel’s stockings have a tartan pattern, otherwise he’d have to be mad at himself for getting turned on despite – or _because of –_ the most ridiculous things the angel does. He suspects he must have developed a pavlovian reaction to tartan over the course of the last two centuries – who the heaven even knows at this point.

He leaves the bowtie he’s still holding on the bookshelf and steps closer, going down on his knees in front of the ottoman. The angel uncrosses his legs to bend down and kiss him, and Crowley takes this chance to put his hands on Aziraphale’s knees and tentatively nudge them apart, runs his fingers over the stockings all the way up to the garter belt – Satan, but Aziraphale’s thighs are a thing of beauty – tugs at the straps just enough to feel them snap back against the angel’s flesh.

Aziraphale gasps, breaking the kiss, and that’s when Crowley looks down and realises his lover is wearing nothing at all underneath the garter belt. Which is just as well, because he was dying to bury his face between those thighs.

He hooks his hands behind the angel’s knees to pull him forward until Aziraphale is perched on the edge of the ottoman and Crowley has easy access to all of him. He stops only to briefly glance up at the angel, and when he doesn’t spot a single hint of discomfort in his lovely face, he continues, wrapping a hand around Aziraphale’s almost completely hard cock.

He holds it in place as he begins his teasing. He kisses the tip, then along the length. He presses his tongue flat against it and drags it up. Aziraphale trembles, his hands closing around Crowley’s shoulders, squeezing lightly, asking for more. But the demon just repeats the same pattern all over again, kisses and licks and very lightly nips, but does not allow him anything more, not even when Aziraphale’s hips give a little unintentional thrust upwards and the angel moans out his name in a way that makes Crowley’s cock throb desperately in his pants. The demon makes an amused sound against the skin of Aziraphale’s thigh and press the tip of his tongue to the spot right under the head of the angel’s cock, making Aziraphale let out a long sound of protest at being teased so cruelly.

“Crowley… oh, please now…” Aziraphale sighs, gripping the demon’s shoulders hard.

Crowley smirks and decides it’s about time to stop, so he pulls back with one last, long lick from root to tip. As he stands up and steps away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands, he very deliberately avoids touching Aziraphale, and goes to lie down on the bed instead. He tilts his head back, looks at the upside-down angel frowning at him.

“Why don’t you keep those on,” he says, vaguely gesturing at Aziraphale’s stockings, “and come here to show me what you want?”

The angel hastily tosses away the rest of his clothes – except the stockings, of course – and Crowley feels impossibly proud. He always does, whenever he manages to make Aziraphale so desperate for it he becomes careless with his precious clothes. The angel climbs on the bed, his face towards Crowley’s feet, and places his knees carefully on either side of Crowley’s shoulders. When he drops down to his elbows, his body covers the demon’s completely – and when Aziraphale’s cheek brushes against Crowley’s cock, still trapped in his trousers, the demon gasps and feels himself straining towards that lovely pressure.

But he forces himself to focus. He grabs Aziraphale’s hips and guides the angel’s cock into his mouth – _finally._ Edging Aziraphale really doesn’t work that well when he feels like he’s blue-balling himself. He loves doing this, loves making him come, loves feeling him throb against his tongue, loves every little sound the angel makes when he’s like this, so much that denying Aziraphale this pleasure really means denying it to himself.

And – one of the things about the angel that always turns Crowley on fast as lightening is that, for all that Aziraphale might be fussy and gentle, he’s also alarmingly strong, much more than Crowley is. And Crowley adores it. Adores feeling the angel sink into his mouth, thick and hard, and beginning to thrust, adores his weight pinning him to the mattress. Crowley is very happy he doesn’t really have to do anything at all, because he couldn’t think straight right now. All he does is hold tight to the angel’s arse to keep communicating that not only this is okay, but very much desired, and enjoys the escalating sounds coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth as the angel fucks down into his eager lips.

And then Aziraphale begins fiddling with Crowley’s trousers, and the demon realises he’s so far gone already that he’ll probably come embarrassingly soon if he’s touched at all. Or sucked. Or—

Aziraphale flips open the clasps of his suspenders and pushes his trousers down. This time, Crowley bothered to wear underwear, and the angel takes this chance to tease him right back, letting him feel his hot wet breath through the fabric of his boxer briefs. Crowley’s hips try to buckle up, but Aziraphale’s hands pin him down, keeping him exactly where he wants him. Crowley’s eyes flutter closed.

He could ask for mercy, but he doesn’t want to. He could stay forever here, trapped between the soft bed and Aziraphale’s softer body, giving and receiving and enjoying the angel in any way he would have him.

He tries – he tries _really_ hard to focus again. Maybe, if he makes Aziraphale finish first, it’ll be slightly less embarrassing when he’ll come practically untouched. He wraps his infamous tongue around the angel’s cock and keeps pulling him closer with his hands, trying to make him increase his pace – but Aziraphale only complies once he’s managed to do away with the demon’s boxers and has closed his own mouth around Crowley’s cock.

All the demon’s higher brain functions shut down.

For a few, long moments, Crowley feels like he’s floating, or drunk, or drunk _and_ floating, his mouth full of cock and the angel’s own clever lips and tongue working him, squeezing and sucking and greedy and relentless, and really he needed much less than that to slip over the edge, and the next second he’s finally there, pushing up into the angel’s mouth, coming in long spurts and gasping for breath around Aziraphale’s cock.

The angel slows down his thrusting, but never really stops and, as soon as Crowley is capable of coherent thought again, he digs his fingers into Aziraphale’s thighs, catches him at the garters, and pulls him in hard, asks as explicitly as he can for his mouth to be fucked hard and deep, and Aziraphale complies, pulling out and pushing in and pinning his head into the soft bed underneath and finally spilling – distantly, Crowley hears his name being called over and over by the angel’s breathless, ruined voice, and his own cock gives a spent twitch at the sound.

When it’s over, Aziraphale lies down beside him, trying to catch his laboured breath.

Crowley decides this is an optimal time to sneak in between the angel’s side and his arm, so he can rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder with his lover being none the wiser. If he has to listen to Aziraphale commenting once more about how Crowley is _absolutely lovely_ or _unexpectedly cuddly_ or whatever, his ears will burn right off his head. Besides, nothing wrong with staying this close while they’re half-undressed. It’s for warmth as much as anything.

Really.

It’s a few moments before Aziraphale has recovered enough to wrap his arm around Crowley and kiss his temple. The demon, for his own part, keeps playing with the edge of Aziraphale’s stockings, utterly fascinated. What a good fucking idea. His angel is so smart.

Speaking of which, Aziraphale struggles for a second to get a blanket out from under their bodies, then pulls it over Crowley, creating a perfect cocoon for his snake to rest.

“M’gonna stay here forever,” Crowley mutters sleepily, making himself comfortable against the angel’s side.

Aziraphale chuckles. “If you’d like. By the way, your hair looks great today, my dearest,” he says, and smiles down at Crowley, his eyes crinkling at the corners, looking at the demon like he’s the best thing on this whole blessed Earth. Crowley has to swallow down his heart once again – but it’s okay, he’s quite getting used to it.

“Does it?” Crowley asks, averting his gaze and feigning disinterest. “I hadn’t noticed.” Aziraphale holds him closer.

It’s been a great year. The first of many to come. And, if they move towards a full understanding of each other very, very slowly – well, that’s perfectly alright, isn’t it? After all, they’re not human, but human-shaped occult ( _ethereal_ ) forces. And, as Crowley knows first-hand, the movement of the most massive of stars might take millions of years, but it’s there all the same.

He did not notice how much of the angel’s habits had slowly rubbed off on him until it was a done thing - until there he was, standing in front of the mirror, fighting with hair with a comb like any human would.

Then again, when heavenly bodies move, it might take another million years for the change to be observed from Earth, so everything is exactly as it should be.

It’s one year later, and – everything is just fine, and they’ve never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Folks seemed to enjoy my other [zero angst content](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=kudos_count&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=zero+angst+content&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=chamyl), so here’s another! *prints fic just to smash it on the floor like Thor*  
> …  
> *quickly picks it back up and hugs it*
> 
> Hope you had fun ~


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